


Vital Spirit

by Peter_Yellowhammer



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Pokemon Mystery Dungeon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But probably romantic, Gen, Insomnia, It's a Madhouse!, Literally an Alternate Universe, M/M, Nothing Sexual, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1414687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peter_Yellowhammer/pseuds/Peter_Yellowhammer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert isn't the type to remember his dreams, let alone be conscious during one. So when he finds both of these things happening together at the same time, he already knows that something is horribly wrong. As it will turn out, he's correct, although not in the way he imagined.</p><p>Dazed and confused in a new, unfamiliar body and environment, Javert desperately needs a sound plan of action for both his survival and sanity. The biggest question is how much of what's happening around him he can afford to ignore...especially as some of the creatures he meets remind him of someone he once knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As Javert took in the sight in front of him, two realizations immediately became both apparent and highly worrying. The first was that Javert was conscious while dreaming. The second was that Javert was actually aware of any dream in the first place, for the first time in his life filled with nightly lapses of energy. If and when he actually slept, the stars were always the last light he saw until the morning sun, and the shuffling blanket of his bed was the only sound he heard until the church bells...until just now. But why?

He did not open his eyes, he knew this, but he was somehow witness to an unintelligible aura of bright colors and bright light. He felt as if he were suspended in this aura, which could only mean his body was starting to—actually, he had no way of knowing that, not until he was completely awake. But he was probably just on the verge of waking. Good; this dizzying spectacle had already lost its novelty. He couldn't hear the bells, so he knew his first day wouldn't start for a while. He just needed to pry his eyes open...

Just stretch his muscles and lift them toward his hairline, that was all...

_Come now, open!_

...It seemed he would need a crowbar if he wanted to pry them open. Yet another shortcoming to undo! This aura would come to haunt him now, making him ill with its undulating mosaic! But in fairness, this was the first time he ever had to wake up from a dream by his own power. He had to learn the trick to it, and fast.

He tried to shift his floating body to get blood flowing to his eyes, anything to help, when the undulating aura seemed to burst in the center, as if something were forcing itself through it like a fish jumping out of a pond. If the pond were sideways. What even _was_ this?!

“...Are you there?”

Oh, no. Someone was talking to him, and he had no means to identify them. Either his landlord had an issue with him or someone broke into his room, neither of which inspired serenity. He tried to force his own voice to work, which resulted in something like “Geouofmyroom.” Good enough.

“What? Oh, never mind, you can hear me! I need your help!”

Javert decided not to respond.

“I need you to save this world, at least try! You're the last chance we have!”

Before he could dismiss the absurd argument with his semiparalyzed throat, he saw the aura waver and shift. For a brief moment, he saw what looked curiously (yet undeniably) like his own silhouette. But then it shifted a second time, coalescing into...into...

A mirror...?!

It-It couldn't be!

If a mirror, then it was a mirror that showed...

“WHAT THE DEVIL IS THAT THING?”

All time to ponder and strategize was now gone. The tempo of this hallucination had increased exponentially and now showed its plan to unhinge him. Its latest move was to broaden his perception past the wall of repulsive, psychic colors and into a small room whose floor was covered in a thin layer of what he assumed was water. He felt his limbs become freer, functioning under the delusion that he really was standing in that room; most likely as a consequence, his body felt heavier and stooped a bit. He felt very, very warm as well...the summer heat had to be wearing him down as he was probably twisting that blanket around himself like a mummification ritual. At a loss for a countermeasure, he settled for autonomy and lumbered his heavy body toward the center of the “pond”.

Javert looked down. It was there again. That thing.

He recoiled at the sight, and so did the beast.

He made to brandish his bludgeon out of habit, and his hand met nothing but fur. Black fur, like the beast's in every way.

It was a mirror...

A light started to shine from under him, spreading into a circle and flaring upward all around him. He was enveloped in it before he could move out of the way. Javert could only see white as he instinctually cried out for someone to help.

For all he knew, all he did was scream silently into a soundless void as he lost himself in the madness. If this was what dreaming was like, then he would never dream again for as long as he lived.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometime after the senseless flare of lights, Javert started to regain his senses and found himself hanging off the branch of a tree like a sloth. He never cared for sloths, for what little he knew of them. True to their name, they were absolutely unmotivated and careless and insufferably slow-moving. He must have looked the perfect picture of their species as he laid on his back, limbs splayed in what would otherwise be a comfortable position. He must have looked insufferably lazy...

It suddenly struck him: he was actually lying on a tree branch. Of all the thoughts to consume him first, he chose the least consequential of them all, just from how it presented him inaccurately to other people. He didn't even know if people were around to witness him! He needed to get down from the tree and find answers for what unearthly event had transpired! And so he accounted his unfocused dithering on having to rouse from... _that_...and made to climb down the branches toward the soft, wet ground.

In doing so, he proved beyond any tangible doubt that he was not a sloth. As soon as he pushed himself to his feet, every fiber of muscle in his body responded to his command with force beyond anything he ever could have desired. More than that, energy teemed through every part of him imaginable to fuel that strength he suddenly was able to command. Even the idea of climbing down the tree was enough to move his limbs quickly and intelligently to drop off the branch, swing off a lower one, grab a third, and land without injury.

It was as if he was made to climb up and down trees...

In the very back of his mind, he realized the truth yet refused to acknowledge it as long as his sanity would allow it. But as his lightheadedness grew even stronger and brighter, it became clear that he had it backwards; he had to face the truth in order to preserve it as best he could. He looked over himself. He was covered in black fur; his back slumped forward like a prisoner after a hard day's work; he didn't want to check, but it felt like this beastly form came with a tail; his hands had fewer fingers, yet the fingers he had now had claws shooting from the tips; he had fewer toes as well, removing any sense he had left of still being human; he had no bludgeon; his hat was nowhere to be seen.

Javert only had his name to remind him of who, or what, he was now. He needed to figure out what needed to happen next, but just standing in the full, naked horror of how figuratively and literally naked he was...for a second, he almost asked himself what would even be the point of forging ahead with a plan of any sort.

“This is simple,” he began to say to himself, confident that no one was listening to him if nothing else. “I came here from a dream, so I just need to dream again to go back to Montreuil, find some way to explain this to the mayor, and I can start work in earnest! I'll set up shelter for the night and this will all be finished before the sun rises!”

Truth be told, the real inspiration for the plan was how he felt like he would need a genuinely restful night after what had happened. Not that he felt tired, but...

Thankfully, Javert had woken up in a grove near the foot of a small mountain, so he was able to find enough flint and tinder and rain cover for a shabby little camp for the one night. His claws were superlative at chopping the wood for more easily catching fire, but they turned out to be clumsy for the finer movement needed for keeping the flint in his...paws...long enough to light a spark. After the sun had set, he finally gave up and counted on his ludicrous coat of fur to keep him warm. He laid down on his makeshift bed of brush and closed his eyes.

Two hours later, his eyes were still closed. But it made little difference, because he was in full awareness of this fact, and all he saw were the insides of his apeish eyelids.

He tossed and turned by the minute trying to get comfortable.

He counted the stars to lull himself away from his thoughts...although doing so made him notice that these stars were not the ones that should have been up in the sky. The pattern they formed was completely unrecognizable.

He went over arrest procedure.

He went over the warden's code of conduct.

He took deep breaths to try and calm himself beyond care for how much warmer his fur was than he predicted it would be.

Disheartened, he tried to merely keep his claws from digging into the earth, with limited success. He was not going to fall asleep. He conceded to himself that he would only come to dream when his body saw fit to relax. Hopefully the city of Montreuil could manage without an inspector for a few hours more. If he wasn't asleep by that time, then—no, he couldn't think like that, not now! Of all the least soothing thoughts to think!

…

Some indefinite number of hours slipped by, with no change at all. The wind blew at the same speed, leaves rustling in the same pattern. The sky had no clouds to obscure it even once. Javert's claws kept finding the soft soil to bury themselves, eager for anything to do at all, or rather struggling to keep his limbs from shaking, trembling, stirring and crushing the earth beneath him as if to prepare it for planting seeds.

Javert would have done anything for just a bit of movement, something to give this fathomless energy some direction. But moving around would just heat him up and make it more difficult to sleep! What to do, and in what way?! Some distant notion of tiring himself out sounded ridiculous: he felt like he could do anything at all for days on end. Hell, if he had this much energy as...as a human...

Javert felt heavier at the thought. That reflection he saw in that pond swam back to him without his bidding, searing the image of some apeish abomination into his mind, clearer and sharper each time. The beast would warrant a death squad in the streets of Paris on sight, if not _smell._ How was he wearing this monster's skin and bones? What happened to his original form? How quickly would they notice he had left? Had they done so already? Did the very laws of time abandon him as well as space and biology and psychology and conservation of matter?

And then, in the deepest part of him and most hauntingly of all, a timid voice whispered a question he hadn't heard asked ever since he was small and wretched:

_Would anyone even care?_

“The good citizens would as the scum of the streets come upon them, and that's all that matters.” His answer was automatic, as were most of them if ever he lost focus and found meaningless questions intruding on his watch. The last that had happened was...did he even remember?...sometime around the start of his service as a guard. He was too busy after that to even stop to think.

He never had to worry about falling asleep then. He was so tired after an honest day's work that he succumbed as soon as he laid in his hammock. It was wonderful...he hadn't known a more comfortable bedding before, or a more valued one since. And now...

It was like nothing had changed at all.

Javert had pushed himself to standing and paced around his camp. He wasn't going to fall asleep, and even depressing thoughts weren't enough to drain him of this frenzy in his blood. Javert tried to keep his musings from anything too wild, fighting this aggravating slump that his bestial form wanted to assume so desperately. What foul magic made this beast so manic? And how was he to sate it when he wasn't even supposed to exist _as_ it?

...Perhaps those thoughts were too wild. Something familiar, something already understood...

Jean Valjean?

Yes.

He heard the fugitive was finally spotted and cornered near the northern coast. Javert had hoped to find him simpering up to Montreuil-sur-Mer and arrest him on the spot, assuming his appearance hadn't changed beyond recognition. Heh! A hulking brute like that stood out from the crowd no matter how hard he tried. It was a comforting thought as he prepared for an underwhelming transfer from the sinful capital to the equally sinful, yet less entertaining town to the north. If he could manage to find that dream to wisk him back to France, then who knew? Perhaps he could collar the criminal after all.

He was spotted with a bag of apples, stolen no doubt. Javert eagerly imagined cornering Valjean in the town square, paralyzed with fear at the sight of his old jailer, and dropping the apples as he sees no exit around him on any side. Then Javert would calmly pick up the bag and hand it off to a young constable as he slips the cuffs on his scarred wrists, and then the town would breathe a sigh of relief. Even this ape's head he commanded now couldn't help but stretch his lips into a satisfied grin.

Perhaps he could fall drowsy to soothing thoughts like this. Javert laid back down on the bed of brush, stretched his limbs decadently, and closed his eyes as the scene unfolded before him in full color and motion.

…

As the sun rose, he had repeated it so often that the fugitive was a harlequin, the bag was an apple-shaped mallet, and the townsfolk were sighing for no reason through the cartoonish spectacle. Javert had been defeated. He would have to find some way to drain this hellish mania from his blood by moving with enough frenzy and time to make him drop. Somehow.

Javert had forgotten he had tried to light a fire as he destroyed the tinder pile and looked to the other side of the grove. The rising sun showed a path that would probably lead through the mountain. He sighed to himself with resignation and started walking with a slump along the sodden dirt. What ever path he was headed down now, he hoped it was very, very, very, very, very long...


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't.

Javert padded eastward along the path running past the mountain to find a broken bridge. From the looks of it, a landslide had thrown countless rocks at the middle of the bridge and made it collapse. No moss clung to the stone, so it must have been fairly recent. The gap was wide enough that jumping across it wasn't an option, so he would have to find another way around the mountain. To the right was a crevasse. To the left was...a cave.

A cave that was probably poorly lit and full of wild animals. Granted, he would fit right in with how he looked, but he wasn't eager to acquaint himself with the cave-dwelling community while any hope of returning home still remained. Did it?

...He was going into the cave, wasn't he? That gap wasn't crossable; he was never any more athletic than his lifestyle demanded of him as a humble police--

“...”

_Refusing to believe any of this is happening has its disadvantages,_ he concluded.

Just the thought of gearing up to leap across the bridge already had him loosening his shoulders and backing up to the start of the bridge. He dug his feet into the ground. He set his sights, imagining himself shooting over to the other side. And with that...he let the beast do the work.

He shot forward, ignoring the rush of air roaring past him...

Catapulted from the edge...

Careened through the air in a smooth arc...

And just barely managed to dig his claws into the stone of the bridge before falling to his death.

It was frightening how easy it was to stir himself – or rather 'it' – into rushing headlong through a task he could never do previously. Gymont perhaps could perform this particular one, with enough application of a riding crop and without Javert's weight slowing him down (wait...Javert trashed the scenario on further examination), but it wasn't a talent he ever expected to display in any way. And given the current situation, it seemed this beast and Javert had more in common than he expected.

He wasn't sure why he was so calm about narrowly avoiding the bottom of the crevasse. But no matter how he impressed the gravity of the situation upon himself, he couldn't feel any fear beyond that which would be appropriate for losing sight of a guard dog. How long was this detached, surreal feeling to last; at the detriment of his health and beyond?

Well, it couldn't be helped for the moment. Deciding to take this as a blessing in disguise, Javert stopped questioning it and calmly dug his claws to climb up the broken bridge half. For better and for worse, he had crossed the gap.

Now what?

Looking down the rest of the path, it seemed to split into a crossroads at the farthest point he could see. Very well. Journeys with no purpose were tiresome, and that was exactly what he needed. Perhaps he would collapse from boredom on the way to the crossroads, and Montreuil would have its inspector again. Or knowing his luck, the beast would recoil at the tedium so harshly as to make him succumb to a spree of unwarranted sprinting or chest pounding or banana scarfing or whatever the hell it was apes did to have fun. How was he to know? How was he to know anything that would happen, now that dreams had the power to transcend reality and make inspectors fly off to unknown lands on their whimsy?!

“ _How am I going to fall sleep when I'm on the verge of complete insanity?!”_

“Hmm? I don't suppose I would know.”

Perhaps it was due to who he was as an inspector with a faultless image, but even with the nasally voice cutting through the air to comment out of nowhere from no person (or thing) he would probably need to know, just hearing that someone witnessed him losing control made him freeze where he was and his stomach churn with embarrassment. Moving past the knee-jerk reaction, he looked to from where the voice came and noticed a...um...

A monster, coming out of the other end of that cave. That was a fitting description for him. What he said sounded brainless and inocuous enough, so perhaps he was harmless, although he had no proof. Whatever species he represented, it featured blue skin, tiny eyes, a large and bulbous body that oddly reminded Javert of a tadpole, rounded hands and feet, and a thick tail. That spoke intelligently...as well as in his own language...

Perhaps he had fallen into a coma and was trapped in an elaborate dream. Now that he thought about it, that was a more plausible explanation than most. If so, then Montreuil was still short one inspector, but at least they would know what had to be done. Javert pondered on more tangents to the coma theory when:

“Excuse me, sir? I've never seen anyone like you before. Do you need some, mmm, help?”

A deep, rippling horror spread through Javert as he saw the monster speak. His grossly large lips opened and closed in a tragically hopeless imitation of human communication. His tongue, lurking in the dark recesses of his mouth, emerged just behind the lips to waggle in a grotesque dance, dragging strings of saliva back and forth with each articulation. His hum at the end of the second question made him close his mouth, giving Javert a moment's relief from the spectacle...only to jumpscare him with a final word from the hellmouth.

And this creature was trying to be _nice._ What was he even supposed to say?

“...”

The tadpole abomination tilted his head, not unlike how a dog's would when confused. And then he started speaking again, oh Lord. Speaking of dogs, his tongue was about the size of one.

“I, hmm, take it you're lost. I've never seen you before and, well, this isn't exactly a good place for a home. Where are you headed, hmm? If you're going insane, then I, hmm, suggest you stay away from the town. For their sakes.”

Were this creature a human, his odd habit of humming in his sentences would irritate him very quickly. But given the alternative for this case, he was glad for the momentary lapses in showing the inside of his mouth. As for the beast whose skin Javert wore, its limbs were trembling a little from wanting to get away from here, although not out of any uncontrollable fear. It just hated standing still.

...He needed to say something. Who knew what kind of temper this creature may hide along with that tongue?

“...Who are you?”

“Oh, right! I'm sorry, I was thrown off by, hmm, you leaping over the bridge.”

_He was watching me for that long?!_ Javert couldn't suppress the gooseflesh that erupted over his furred skin at the thought.

“Don't look so creeped out; I just happened to come out of there when I saw you, hmm? It would grab anyone's attention. Anyway, my name is Quagsire, a pleasure to, hmm, meet you!”

_Likewise..._

“Javert.” He wasn't about to abandon his name along with his body. Also...if this 'Quagsire' saw him making that leap, then the fact he didn't try to help him climb up the broken bridge spoke volumes of his intentions.

“Javert, hmm? Not a name I would have pegged for you. Ah, well. It, hmm, takes all kinds to make this world. Even the curt ones.”

Curt? He wouldn't describe himself that way; he just didn't want to get too friendly with this indescribably odd creature.

“Why didn't you help me up when I fell? I could have been finished back there.”

Quagsire frowned a little, or Javert assumed it was only a little, with the capacity for expression those lips had.

“I figured, hmm, you didn't need it with your claws for climbing up the cliff; that, or if you fell, then it would be too late, hmm, for me to try and catch you. I'm not exactly the athletic type. Not to mention, hmm, if you were stupid enough to jump without being prepared, then it's your own fault for trying in the first place.”

...Javert couldn't argue with that. This 'Quagsire' at the very least had the capacity for reasoning, and Javert would have concluded the same as he did. Fair enough.

“Fair enough. What was that you said about a town earlier?”

“...I don't know if I should tell you,” stalled Quagsire. “Monsters on the verge of insanity aren't, mmm, model citizens to say the least. But actually, you seem fine to me, hmm? Maybe you're wrong. Ah, what a happy day! Your power of reasoning isn't gone just yet!”

“...” It was becoming increasingly difficult to know what to say to him. Freakish lips and tongues notwithstanding. And this monster called other monsters as such? Was that what he meant? That...he didn't know how to feel about that. Well, if nothing else, categorizing creatures like Quagsire became much more intuitive.

“What makes you think you're going insane, hmm? If it's not too personal for me to ask.”

_How much time do you have for me to rattle off the list?_

...Should Javert ask him for help? Would he end up regretting it later? Probably...but on the slim chance Quagsire was honest, he could at least be vague enough to get what he needed.

“...I am lost, like you said. I have nowhere to go, and I'm rather disoriented.”

“Hmm...I suppose that would wear someone down,” concluded Quagsire. “Perhaps I can help you. Where did you come from?”

_I can't. Absolutely out of the question. I'll have to play dumb._

“I don't remember.”

“...?” Now Quagsire was the dumbstruck one. “You lost your memory? That sounds like, hmm, someone else I met a few years ago. That's an odd coincidence.”

Lost memory? It was a good enough alibi as any other. The more Javert thought about it, this was just like being a police spy. He just had to get the information he needed and leave unscathed. Yes...Actually, maybe that was why he couldn't sleep. He needed answers, and he couldn't rest until his curiosity was satisfied! It wouldn't be the first time. Even the beast could understand that kind of disquiet.

“I wonder...hmm...”

Quagsire suddenly seemed perkier. Javert faintly recognized the gleam in his small, beady eyes. It was reminiscent of the salesmen of less repute in the marketplace.

“That look in your eyes...are you a salesman?”

Quagsire took a step back and let his jaw drop. Javert flinched.

“Very perceptive! Yes, I was thinking of cutting you a deal, hmm, if you're interested.”

Business. That was a step in the right direction: he could make a claim against Quagsire if he cheated him. Or...something like that. It was better than being led around, in any case.

“I'm listening.”

Quagsire put his paws together, looking more and more the picture of capitalism. “I run a bit of a policing operation around these parts, and I have some spare land I, hmm, want to unload. The land isn't much, but it could be developed with, mmm, some time and care. I was thinking...if you're interested, you can assist me in arresting some, hmm, ne'erdowell monsters, and in return, you can have the land to develop as you see fit. Give it some thought, hmm?”

...It sounded too good to be true. For more than a few reasons. If he got anything remotely close to this kind of deal in France, it would be beyond his wildest dreams. Even in this nonsense world, it was incredibly tempting to be an inspector, to make this beast work for justice and run him ragged until he would have to fall in the land of dreams! It all just...

“It sounds too good to be true.”

Quagsire smirked. “I understand your concern, mmm, indeed. I can give you a tour of the area and let you see what I do. I'll take you through a mystery dungeon and guide you, hmm, through the process. Then you can decide. Sounds fair, hmm?”

Javert looked to his claws. If this were all a ruse, they looked sharp enough to exact justice upon this tadpole monster. He wasn't the type to do the dirty work in arresting criminals, but things were different now. If he wasn't strong enough, he was fast enough; if he wasn't fast enough, he was patient enough; if he wasn't patient enough, then—pfft, hahahahahaha! No creature, man or monster, would escape the consequences of...

Of...crime...

What crimes? What laws were upheld here?

What constituted an offense?

And what was that about a 'mystery dungeon'? Was that some slang for a highly-secured hideout?

What evidence of civilization was actually here?!

“Wait.”

Quagsire, to his credit, was patient and didn't turn to leave. “Yes?”

“What precisely do you deem a criminal?”

Quagsire tilted his head again.

“Is it difficult to, hmm, deem them for you? Not to worry. I'll make it very clear when we get to them. You just have to do some legwork and punish them for me.”

Javert wished very dearly he had his hat and bludgeon right then. Maybe then he wouldn't look as much like a clueless beast.

“I meant more specifically. Are all thieves just thieves, or is there a subdivision of the severity of crime?”

Quagsire squinted at him. Javert had to keep pressing; this sort of question distinguished the higher eschelons of the law from the lower. That, and any dishonestly was sometimes revealed from ignorance in areas that a fraud wouldn't consider relevant.

Suddenly, Quagsire smiled. “Mmm, I see what you're getting at! We like to keep things simple around here, mmhmm. If you steal something or start a gang of troublemakers, then a short, mmm, beatdown will be enough to show them who's in charge. They'll be too scared to try it again and get on the straight and narrow, or we'll just run them out of town.”

“Once a criminal, always a criminal,” countered Javert.

Quagsire frowned, more dramatically than before. By the stars...his lips weren't that prominent, they were just stretched so long across his oblong head. The slightest expression with them make him nauseated. “I wonder if you're right, sometimes...I end up punishing the same monster sometimes, and they just won't learn. But we've talked more than enough for now. Let's, mmm, get into town and show you around. I mean, it sounds like you've agreed already.”

_It does?_

“...I suppose I have,” Javert admitted out loud. “Let's get going, then.” The beast's limbs stopped trembling and relaxed at the prospect of finally getting to move.

“Follow me, hmm?”

Quagsire turned toward the crossroads and started padding along. Javert had forgotten about how long this beast's back slumped forward during their conversation. As they walked down the path, he tried to straighten his back just enough to seem more respectable. He was able to walk with proper posture for a few minutes before his back started hurting, and he had to slump again. It used to be the other way around for him.

From properly straight to naturally slack...not unlike this Quagsire. He admitted to himself that it probably upset him more than it should have. Hopefully the same didn't apply to how crime was handled around here. If it did, then he was about to be very, very busy.


End file.
